Handling
by xLoyalTruthseekerx
Summary: How do you handle something, when you never thought it would happen to you?


So, this is my first story ever, please be kind. I love this show and hate that's it over. Hopefully it'll be back for a third season! This fic will be a bit dark so, I'll give the warnings but please be warned. READ AT OWN RISK!

Warnings: Attempted Suicide, Referenced Child Abuse, Sexual Abuse/Rape/Non-Con, Underage Drinking. I think this is all, but if I missed any please let me know.

This is set before Missing Kings, so Homra is without a leader right now and power. That plays a big part in the story, so I'm letting you know now.

Constructive criticism is welcome but flames are not. I won't accept them, and they will be deleted. I don't care what you think, but I do wish you would like it. Ultimately, I write for my own pleasure. Reviews are welcome and appreciated!

Enjoy!

*x*x*

Yata lifted the cool glass bottle to his lips, taking a long pull of it. The liquid fire burned it's way down his throat in a painful but pleasurable sensation. His head spun a bit from the excess amount of liquor he'd already consumed. His stomach rolled and spun, churning his insides. His heart beat at an unsteady rhythm, pumping blood through his veins and into the different parts of his body. His throat clenched as he swallowed some more, also fighting back the sobs he refused to release. His shaky hand closed tightly around the bottle and lifted it again and again. His vision wavered and blurred and the nausea intensified, but he didn't stop. He wouldn't stop, not until maybe he could forget. Forget everything.

When the young man couldn't get anything else out of the bottle he tossed it to the side, memories of another time flashing through his mind. Memories of shocking red hair and sunlight glinting off a shining red earring. A hand catching and melting the glass in moments. An offer that changed his life. He snorted. His life had definitely changed at that point. Before that moment, it was hiding with his friend away from their abusive fathers. It was slacking off at school, and sneaking out. It was small jobs here and there, barely getting paid enough to cover the rent on the disgusting apartment they eventually moved into and lived in for years. It was playing games, and having the fun he should have had with family.

After that, it was like his life had done a complete 180. It was finding a cause to fight for. It was finding a group of people to call family. It was finding a mentor to follow and respect. It was having the power to change the world, for better or for worse. It was the power to overcome all he'd been through in life. It was making a life like the promise he'd made with his friend back in the days when hiding was their only escape from the pain.

And then, in a moment, it was gone.

His life changed again, only for the worse this time, when the one person that had promised to always be there, a promise they'd both made as kids looking for a better future, drug his hand across their mark, their symbol, their motto, his hand heated enough to char the smooth, white flesh underneath. He can still remember the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh turning his stomach as he watched his friend tear and burn and destroy their lives together with glistening eyes. He can remember the sneer on his friends lips and the vile words spilling from his mouth, his voice mocking him. He can remember the shock, hurt and anger flooding his system. He can remember the feel of his hand gripping that cold blue uniform with white knuckles as he tried to comprehend what it all meant. He can remember the sound of his friends mocking voice and fading footsteps as he walked away from Homra, _from him._

He can remember the despair overwhelming him when he stepped through the doors of HOMRA.

There hadn't been one specific thing that caused his system to overload at that time, more of a combination of things. Like, seeing the chairs at the bar they both sat at that eventually everyone started calling theirs. Like, seeing the picture up on the mantle for the fireplace of everyone joined together. Like remembering sitting in the lounge, just the two of them long after everyone disappeared for the night. And within seconds, he'd closed himself off from the world, collapsing to the ground in a heap as his legs gave out unnoticed beneath him. He didn't remember what happened after that, still to this day, but people told him that Tatara and Izumo rushed over to help him and ended up carrying him upstairs to the sofa in the game room so he'd be somewhat comfortable until he came back to himself.

He doesn't even remember if he told them thank you for that.

When he finally came back to his senses, it had been 5 o'clock the next afternoon and Mikoto was sitting in a chair beside him. He doesn't remember some things from that time, his mind having been blurry and run down, but he could remember clearly the comforting silence and support from his King, who he would later call friend. It was after that that he made up his mind to never be so attached to someone again, and let his anger over his friend leaving spur him on, control him to a degree. Not that it stayed that way.

Yata dug another bother out of the bag at his side, popping the cap off and took another deep swallow, cutting off the flow of memories taking place in his mind. He didn't need a retrospective daydream of how things used to be. That would just lead him up til now, and he didn't need that. He could remember it all perfectly, without putting it into a timeline. So why would he do that and torment himself further?

*x*x*

 _26 days ago_

With a roar of rage Yata swung his bat, knocking it into the head of one opponent before ducking on his skateboard and sliding around to the side enough that he could jump up and smash it into the shoulder of the next. His opponent staggered under the blow, but pulled himself up again to make like he was going to come after him again before Kamamoto slammed his fist into the guy's stomach, sending him crashing to the ground, curled up and groaning in pain.

"What took ya so long, Fatty?" Yata quipped to his friend, spinning his bat over his shoulders, a victorious grin spreading across his face. It had been a while since he'd been able to go out and just blow off some steam and it felt good.

Ever since Mikoto's death, Homra hadn't gotten involved in much, seeing as how they were without most of their power and grieving. Even they knew that it was stupid to pick a fight when running off of fumes like that.

"Looked like you had it handled pretty well until the end there, Yata-san. I just decided to give you a hand." The larger guy replied to the Vanguard with a small smirk, knowing the dig at Yata's capabilities would wind him up. Yata's eyebrow ticked and his eyes narrowed in fury as he glared at his partner.

"You just gave me a hand...I was just fine by myself! I didn't need any help, especially not from a loser like you!" Yata snarled, punching Kamamoto in the jaw. Though, while it might not have looked like it to anyone outside of Homra, the strength behind the punch was pulled, leaving Kamamoto with just a bruise, instead of a broken jaw. Just like he expected.

"Sure, what ever you say, Yata-san." Whatever retort the smaller male had for that was interrupted by a call coming in on the red head's watch. He ignored the buzzing on his wrist long enough to glare and snarl at the other man, who just grinned in response, not in the least bit repentant, before tapping the holo-screen to answer.

"What, Kusanagi-san?"Came the terse answer.

Izumo sighed and pressed his fingers sharply into his temples. Of course, the first day he gives them something to do other than wait around the bar all day, they decide to beat each other up for the sake of doing it. One of these days he's gonna bash their heads together and order them to grow up. Well, he would, if he knew it would work.

"Just got a call from one of our eyes in the housing district. Apparently, the Yakuza have decided that since our King was gone, it was okay to set up shop in our part of the city. Would you guys mind going and taking care of that for me?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes to the sunlight streaming through the window. Between dealing with the all the hooligans that make up Homra all day, watching Anna, and running an actual business (Mikoto's ghost could go to hell for the snort he knew he heard in the back of his mind at that last comment), his sleeping was off and he was constantly exhausted. Plus, he was looking into the slates to figure out if maybe he could foresee who might become the next King. All in all, he was too damn tired to listen to any petty bickering that might pop up from those two.

A sigh echoed from over the line and Izumo could see in his minds eye Yata rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, we'll look into it. Don't need them taking up space in our town. And make sure you get some rest." The phone clicked off and Izumo eyed it for a moment before giving a small smile, earlier frustration with the boy temporarily forgotten. While Yata's brash attitude and rude remarks made it seem like he was a dick, which most of the time he desperately tried to be seen that way, he was actually very caring. Especially where the members of Homra were concerned. And even with an even more rude and obnoxious blue, which he would deny before ever admitting he cared for that "stupid monkey". How much Yata actually cared worried Izumo sometimes, afraid that sometime the young man would actually get hurt more than he already has.

The soft pitter-patter of small feet on the stairs alerted Izumo ahead of time to Anna's arrival. The young girl lightly stepped into the room, her attire rumpled from where she'd been dozing on the couch, eyes half mast with sleep. He walked over to the small girl, gently picking her up and setting her up on a bar stool, before climbing into the one next to her.

"Anna, why are you up? Something bothering you?" Izumo quietly questioned, eyes concerned. The small, white haired girl swallowed and nodded, burrowing her head into Izumo's shoulder. He brought an arm up, wrapping it lightly around her tiny waist.

"Anna?" She shook her head in reply, burrowing even deeper into the flesh of his shoulder. He sighed before carefully picking the child up and carrying her over to the couch, settling in the center of it. The girl loosened her grip slightly, settling down into a more comfortable position. There was another few minutes of silence before Izumo heard Anna's small voice.

"It was a nightmare, though it felt so _real._ It was like looking through my marbles, but I couldn't see anything, just feel." She paused, snuffling a bit. The older man just waited in silence, knowing that his patience would eventually win out.

"There was something wrong with Misaki-san. It was like I could feel him, but couldn't at the same time. He was hurting so much, it was overwhelming, but I still couldn't find him." Anna finished, voice breaking at the end. Izumo reached up a hand and ran it through her hair, much like Totsuka used to, using the motion to calm the tremors coursing through her tiny frame.

*x*x*

Yata slammed the bottom of his skateboard into the gun in his opponents hand, the skittering sound of it sliding across the floor background noise to the rest of the fight going on. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, bones breaking and cracking, of things being broken in the fight echoed all around him. He turned just in time to see Kamamoto pick a guy up and slam him into the ground. Yata unleashed a heated fist on a guy running up to him with a piece of pipe, sending the guy to the ground, the old warehouse now filled with the smell of sweat, blood and gunpowder.

Yata panted, shoulders heaving with the force of his breaths, legs shaky with exertion. They'd been going at this for hours, it now being 2:15 in the morning, and only now was the fight showing sign of slowing down. He spun on his skateboard and slammed back into the guy coming up behind him, both of them collapsing to the ground. Apparently, he wasn't the only one wearing out.

"Yata-san. You okay?" The gasped question from Kamamoto had Yata pushing himself up on, though he'd never admit it, weak arms until he rested on his knees. He looked up through his bangs which were falling into his face at his friend, who was doubled over and gasping for his own air. Their heaving breaths the only sound around other than the hoarse moans of pain from their defeated opponents. Yata gave the larger man a small smile before his head drooped down to his chest.

"Sure thing fatty. I'm...just fine. Now you...You're looking...a little peaked." Yata finally gasped out, air finally entering his chest and returning his lungs back to normal. A horse laugh was heard from Kamamoto, causing Yata to chuckle slightly in return.

"Remind me to tell Kusanagi-san that, next time, he could come deal with these guys." Yata said, though they both knew he never would. For one, if he couldn't beat a little Yakuza clan, then what was he doing in Homra? And two, Kusanagi had a lot on his plate right now, with their King and Vassal being gone. Yata wasn't gonna add more trouble to the man's already full schedule.

Yata finished pushing himself up the rest of the way, only stumbling slightly when he stood at full height, before holding a hand out to Kamamoto. After he helped pull the man to his feet, which he didn't really do much considering his own exhaustion, he pulled up Kusanagi's number on his watch, placing the call even with the early/late hour. He and Kamamoto walked out of the warehouse towards their vehicle while it rang. A moment later a grumpy, sleep grumbled voice picked up.

"Yata, everything okay?"

Yata gave a secret smile at his boss's sleep roughened voice, knowing it was the first time in a while the man had gotten some decent sleep.

"Yes, everything's good. The Yakuza's cleared out and I'm pretty sure they won't be returning anytime..." Yata paused at a grunt from the other side of the vehicle. He listened carefully for any signs of distress, hand slowly reaching for a hidden knife in his pants pocket.

"Yata-san? Everything okay?" Kusanagi's now awake and concerned voice sounded from his wrist but he didn't reply, instead making his way around the vehicle. He cleared the side, looking for signs of danger, but only saw his friend lying on the ground with blood running from a new wound on his head.

"Shit." The small red-head cursed. "Kamamoto, what happened?" He questioned, dropping to his knees in the dirt beside his friend. He shook the larger man's shoulder, but with no response.

"Yata, what's going on? I'm sending Eric and Dewa now." Kusanagi hurriedly spit out, and Yata could hear the sound of rustling clothes, signalling the older man's hurried dressing.

"I don't know, Kusanagi-san. Kamamoto's hit his head somehow, but I can't see anything that would do it, and no one's around." Just then there was a slight whistle in the air and he dropped, right as a dart sailed through the spot his neck was just at.

"Ah hell. Kusanagi, someone's here and hiding. I can't see them, but they almost hit me with a dart." Yata grunted out furiously, flattening himself to the side of the vehicle for protection, trying to peer around it enough to look for the enemy.

"Yata, listen carefully. You need to get Kamamoto and yourself into the vehicle. You're in the open out there, it would be easy to get seen. Can you do that?" The roar of a car starting to life sounded over the line, as well as a young girls voice in the background. Yata wanted to curse at these guys for making him wake Anna up, but that would have to wait.

"I can try but...I'm not too sure. I don't know where these guys are at." The rash young man grudgingly said. The red-heads eyes darted around, trying to see through the shadows for the enemy, hand still gripping the knife, knuckles white.

"Just try. The others are about ten minutes out. I just need you to hold on 'til then." Normally, Yata would have retorted, saying that he could handle it himself, but in this case...He was too tired and bruised from the previous fight to have the energy for another one. So he stayed silent, and tried to pull Kamamoto closer without letting himself out into full view.

He'd almost succeeded when he heard soft footsteps coming up behind him. He waited til the last second then swung his leg out and back, sweeping the person's legs from beneath them. He scrambled to his feet, slipping to the side to avoid a punch thrown at him. He stepped back, keeping one eye on each of his opponents, wishing that Kamamoto would wake up, or the others would get here and help him. There was no way he could take on two at the same time in his current condition.

Yata was so focused on the two in front of him, and on Kusanagi's voice over the line that he didn't realize someone came up behind him. Something hard smashed into his skull and he hit the ground with a grunt, stars dancing in his vision. He blinked them away enough to make himself roll to the side, just as the person swung whatever weapon he had right into the ground where his head should have been. Someone kicked their steel-toed boots into his face, sending black dots across his eyes.

"Yata-san! Yata! What's going on? Yata!" Kusanagi's worried, fear filled voice and the feel of strange hands picking him up and sliding him into a strange vehicle were the last thing he registered before slipping into the encroaching blackness.

*x*x*

Yata scrunched his eyes up, a groan escaping his chapped lips. He blinked his eyes slowly to adjust them, his head spinning and stomach protesting his every movement. He swallowed and closed his eyes, before prying them slowly opened them fully again. Light flooded his slightly impaired vision and he squinted until his eyes finished adjusting. He carefully turned his head to the side to try and see if Kamamoto was okay, only to be met with a wall instead of his friend's prone body.

Then everything came flooding back.

The conversation with Kusanagi, who'd assured him that backup was on the way. The darts and the men hiding in the shadows. Another fight.

Someone sneaking up on him.

Yata cursed and pushed himself up on his elbows. His head swam and his stomach churned before bottoming out. He tilted is head to the side just in time to keep from throwing up all over himself. Once done, he dry heaved for a moment, his stomach clenching and unclenching painfully. He wiped his sleeve over his mouth and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he struggled onto his feet, his legs almost giving out more than once. Once at least somewhat steady, the young man leaned against a nearby wall. He slowly moved forward a few feet, carefully testing the door knob to the unfamiliar door. When it only jiggled but didn't turn, he slammed his fist into the door, in a fit of rage.

"Damn it!"

The red headed vanguard rested his forehead against the door, unbidden tears filling his eyes. Being kidnapped and just being the victim in general was new to him. Usually, with the power he had from his King, he was strong enough that he scared most people into leaving him alone. Now though, with his King lost and the power gone it was like he couldn't do anything. Like he was helpless. And he _hated_ that feeling.

It had been a while since he'd truly felt helpless. He and Saruhiko had escaped that years ago when they'd joined HOMRA after having run away from their respective homes. Then Saruhiko had left...That had left him feeling more helpless than any of the beatings used to.

He pushed himself off the door, determination filling him to his core. He was not going to be the victim again. He'd make sure of that.

The young man carefully searched around the room for something he could use as a weapon when next someone opened the door. After finding nothing, he moved to searching for a way out, or a way to take the door off it's hinges.

An hour or so later had him in no better place than before. The only thing he'd succeeded in doing was scraping his fingers raw by trying to pry the screws out of the hinges, after finding out that the metal pin had been melted at the bottom to keep it from moving.

But even though the screws wouldn't budge, the young vanguard continued trying. It was his only hope.

God knew how long he'd been working, it felt like an eternity to him, when at last the door opened. A person stepped through, their features hidden by shadows and a hood.

"Grab him."

Yata jerked when a strange hand tried to grab him. He pushed up onto his feet and stumbled backwards, away from them. Someone came at him again, and he swung a fist, only have it grabbed and twisted behind his back. His arm was pushed far enough up that his shoulder popped and pulled, dislocated, and he let out a scream. The man folding his arms let go of that one. The red-head's arm fell limply at his side. He locked his gaze on it, as if willing it to move but it wouldn't budge.

The Vanguard was pushed forward towards the door. His good arm was still being held behind his back by one of his captors, the threat of another dislocated shoulder unspoken. He moved along with the group he still wasn't able to identify, into a well lit room. There was a camera set up by one wall and two more guys stood by a cot set up directly across from the camera. Suddenly an even greater unease filled him, tightening his chest and sending his heart thumping in a stampeding staccato against his rib cage.

 _Why was there a cot instead of a chair if he was being interrogated?_

He was dragged over to the cot, his good arm clipped in handcuffs to the metal stand. His other arm, was wrapped tightly to his chest; to keep it immobile and to keep any chance of him moving it from happening. He was pushed onto his back and his shirt was cut off him, the sharp metal occasionally nicking the now bare skin. He kicked at his captors but was slapped for the effort, sending his head spinning, vision blurring and ears ringing.

"This is to all the _clans._ We don't want your kind here. You're the devils spawn, and your powers are products of the devil himself. Consider this a warning; This is what will happen to you if you don't leave Japan and give up your control."

Yata turned his head to see who one of the hooded guys was speaking to, but realized that the camera had been powered on, the red light blinking ominously. The struggled against his bindings and the hands grasping at his skin and clothing.

 _"Begin."_

Yata's pants were pulled from his body and his boxers were next. His breathing turned panicked when their intentions couldn't be mistaken anymore. He'd been hoping against hope that his initial suspicions were wrong - after all, what fanatic wanted to put their penis inside the _devils spawn? -_ but apparently, that is exactly what they had planned for him. The red-head twisted and turned and bucked, but his attempts to pull away from the larger men were fruitless.

A hand grasped his hair in a firm grip, jerking his head back to bare his neck. A leather belt was wrapped around his neck, left loose enough it could be tightened if the one who held the other end wished it. The guy gave an experimental tug and his airway was cut off, leaving him gasping for air. The man loosened it again, but Yata could tell by the leer on the guy's face while he gasped for air that he planned on doing it again.

While he was distracted by the man taking away his air, an unaccountable pain flooded his system, and the cry he tried to bite back tore loose from his aching throat. His back arched off the bed to try and move away from the penetrating object, but the bindings and hands held him down to make him endure every moment of it.

Luckily, once the one man moved and another took his place he blacked out, saving him from enduring any more while the blinking camera caught every moment of his torture.

xXx

Yata awoke with a groan. He attempted to push himself up from where he was lying on his stomach, but cried out in pain and collapsed when pain started shooting across his nerves. He curled into a loose ball, biting his tongue to keep from crying out.

Every nerve was on fire, sending black spots across his vision in an attempt to knock him out again. He pushed the pain back into his subconscious, pushing himself up again. He made it to his knees before having to pause and catch his breath. Determination overtook everything else, pushing him to his feet. He needed to get out of here, get help.

After all, he definitely wasn't going to stick around for a redo.

He bent over and threw up what little was in his stomach as memories from before flooded his brain, overloading him. He squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to let any tears escape. He wasn't going to give these bastards the satisfaction.

He shuffled slowly over to the wall next to the door, leaning against it for support he would never admit he needed to anyone. He carefully twisted the knob with a shaking hand and pulled the door open. Silence greeted him, and he carefully took a step out.

There was no one around. Every room he passed was empty, deserted of anything that would suggest someone other than him had ever been there. A sense of foreboding rose, and Yata quickened his steps as much as his protesting body would allow.

He was just a few yards away from the door, his escape, when it was pushed open. The young vanguard stumbled back and put a hand up to block the glare of the sun streaming through the opening. He saw the shadow of a figure stepping through and backed up even further.

"Misaki?" A familiar voice asked, sending shivers down his spine.

Yata looked up passed the hand that held a sword, into the face of his former best friend, seeing how the bluenettes eyes took in every injury, bruise or worse, but no shock reached his eyes. Yata's heart clenched with the realization that _it_ wasn't a secret, and just what that video had been made use for. Though the way the guy was speaking really should have clued him in.

"Misaki?!"

The red-head's vision blackened to the sound of Fushimi's worried cry.

xXx

It's been three days since Yata woke in a hospital to a worried Kusanagi and Anna at his side. One look at their faces had been enough for him to realize that it wasn't just the Blue's the video had been sent to. After seeing the sympathetic looks Anna had given him, he'd turned onto his side facing away from them, a silent plea for them to just leave him alone.

Kamamoto was next. Apparently his dismissal of Izumo and Anna didn't reach everyone else, seeing as how at some point or another everyone had stepped foot through his hospital door. Everyone, that is, except for Saruhiko. At some point, he couldn't even tell you when, he snapped. Yelling at everyone to get out, he didn't want to see them. He didn't want anybody there.

This was the part where Mikoto should have smacked him over the head and called him an idiot, and Tatara would tell him that everything would be okay _cause it always was._ This was the part where Fushimi would tsk and tell him to shut up, and grow up, to stop being a baby. And he'd yell back, and tears would be shed that would never, ever be talked about, and he'd feel better.

But there was no one to tell him that. There was no one to tell him any of those things. Because they were either dead or just outright _gone_ and he was alone. Homra meant well, but he was the vanguard, their leader to a degree. He couldn't let them see him fall apart. Especially Izumo and Anna. Izumo counted on him to hold himself together, to stay strong, and Anna was just a little girl. He couldn't talk to them about any of what happened. It would make him weak in their eyes, and that was one thing he could never be.

So he ignored them, banished them from his room so he could pull himself together. And when he was released, he told no one and went to his dingy little apartment.

But he didn't get better. In fact, with every day, every _moment,_ of being alone, of the permeating silence, he got worse. The nightmares came and kept him up at night. Every noise had him jumping at non-existent figures in the shadows. And when he actually was able to make himself go out and buy groceries, the panic attacks would come and he'd see leering eyes, and sick, perverted grins on every person he saw.

After a week or so of panicking at every sound and every look sent his direction, after the nightmares and the hurt and memories and just _not being able to forget-_

Yata Misaki gave up.

xXx

 _Present_

Fushimi Saruhiko glanced at his watch, before turning his attention back to his Captain's speech.

It's been almost two weeks since Scepter 4 found Misaki at the abandoned warehouse, naked and bruised in every way possible. Two weeks, and Fushimi hadn't been able to make himself go see his former best friend.

The blunette tsked and shook his head. There was absolutely no reason why he should go to visit the Homra vanguard. After all, they weren't friends anymore, and hadn't been in a while.

And yet, the pull to go visit the red-head was still strong enough to make him doubt himself.

He glanced at his watch again, deemed it had been long enough that it was okay if he snuck out and slipped out the door at the back meeting hall, letting it slip quietly closed behind him. He heaved a sigh of relief before starting for the elevator to take him down to the ground floor.

Lower level Scepter 4 members saluted him on his way out, which he ignored. The heat from the sun radiating off of the asphalt rose up in waves, causing him to sweat immediately. He wiped his brow on his sleeve with a tsk, and made his way in the direction of the hospital which housed the stubborn red-head currently occupying his thoughts.

The walk to the hospital was uneventful, if crowded as it was time for everyone to start heading home. He shouldered through the crowd, occasionally tsking when a particularly hard shove knocked into him. At last, and with a sigh of relief, he reached the hospital and stepped through the doors.

It was easy for him to get access to the computers with him being Scepter 4, but to his shock, Misaki had already been released. Early. He frowned, absent mindedly thanked the receptionist for the information before leaving. He changed course to Homra bar, subconsciously speeding up. He turned the corner on the block before the bar, the Homra sign within sight. A sigh of relief escaped him before he could control it.

He shook his head. There was no reason for him to be relieved. He didn't care if anything happened to Misaki. He tsked when he felt the way his heart lurched at the thought of never knowing if Misaki was okay; cause even when they fought and made each other bleed, he knew the red-head was okay. Anger and betrayal could cover all other emotions between them, but, he still made sure the vanguard was only injured by _him._ He was the only one allowed to beat and bruise him.

Fushimi froze, his feet planting in the middle of the sidewalk across the street from Homra. _What was he doing?_ He shouldn't be here. Misaki's health shouldn't be any concern of his, so why was he even bothering? Just because he'd seen the red-head covered in blood and unthinkable injuries, didn't mean he should _care._ They gave up being friends a long time ago. Their relationship now consisted of hate and rage; blood and pain. Nothing like the smiles, shared jokes and teasing from before. A lifetime ago.

A sudden resolve filled him. No matter if they were enemies now, he was here and he was going to check on Misaki. Even if it was from a distance. He clenched his hands into fists and strode forward, purpose in his steps.

When he reached the door to the bar, the closed sign hung slightly tilted from the hook on the inside of the glass. He peeked in, after making sure no one was watching him, to find that all the lights except for the one in the doorway to the kitchen were off. While this might not be entirely unusual, it is after all mid-day, something struck a cord of unease within him.

He rocked back onto his heels, letting out a sigh. There was probably nothing wrong, and his unease was just unwarranted. But on the other hand...everything could be wrong. And in all his years with Scepter 4, he's learned to trust his gut, as it's usually right.

 _Tch._

Why did he now have to develop a sense of duty and compassion? There was nothing to tell him that something was wrong, so why was he in the process of breaking in?

xXx

Yata tilted the bottle up to take another sip, but only a drop or two remained to drip into his wanting mouth. He sighed, and dropped the bottle down at his side, the glass clinking against the ground when it hit. He tilted his head back til it hit with a slight thump against the cabinets of the bar. He closed his eyes and drifted for a minute.

But even that short rest was interrupted with the sight of his captors looming over him, holding him down, mocking him, grabbing him. His stomach churned and he leaned over to throw up what was in his stomach. He gagged when nothing came up again and leaned as far away he could from the puddle of sick without actually moving from his spot. His hand clipped the bottle when he shifted, sliding it a few inches. His bleary gaze locked onto the shiny shape. He grasped it in his trembling hand and threw it. In his current state, it didn't end up very far, slamming into the cabinets across from shattering on impact. Glass showered the area in it's glittering shards.

The vanguard moved his hands from where he'd thrown them over his eyes to protect them from the sharp pieces. He placed them on the ground and was going to push himself up when something pierced his hand. He looked down at his hand to see a piece of glass jutting out of his skin, blood pooling in his palm and dripping onto the floor. His eyes were glued to the blood flowing from his hand, mesmerized by the sight. There wasn't any pain at all, his body was just numb.

He could do it. He could end his misery. What did he have left to live for anyway? The attack had left him defenseless and hurt unimaginably. It showed him and everyone else that he was worthless. What good was he as defender of Homra, when he couldn't defend himself from non-powered people? How could protect everyone, when he couldn't lift a finger to help himself?

The red heads fingers on the opposite hand closed around the piece of glass, almost gently. The sharp sides pierced his other hand, cutting into the skin of his palm. Blood dripped down that hand and onto his leg. He pulled the glass out of his hand, admiring the crimson stained piece. He turned it around, just looking at it.

 _He could end it._

xXx

 _Tch._

Fushimi clicked his tongue when his pin slipped out of his hand and fell onto the concrete. He reached down to pick it up, attempting to pick the lock on Homra's door again. He felt a blush creep up the back of his neck and he narrowed his eyes. He hoped that no one was out on the street or looking through their windows at that moment. He didn't even want to imagine what Munakata would do when he found out his third-in-command was breaking into their rivals bar via lock picking.

The bluenette's eyes widened when he actually felt the lock give beneath his fingers. He pulled the pin out and slowly turned the knob. It turned all the way with a click, signalling that it was open to him. He pushed it open.

xXx

Yata pressed the shard down onto his wrist, slowly, so he could watch the blood swell up around the tip and slide down his arm. He pressed it deeper and deeper, watch the piece disappear beneath layers of skin and muscle.

xXx

Fushimi stepped inside, and silently shut the door behind him. The bar was dark, the only light being a small one in the kitchen barely illuminating 4 feet from the doorway. The stench of opened alcohol burned his nostrils as he stepped closer to the bar, along with an unmistakable metallic smell permeating the air.

 _Blood._

Fushimi practically leaped the rest of the way to the bar. On the other side, down on the ground was Misaki, plunging a piece of broken glass into his wrist.

"Misaki, no!"

xXx

Yata slid the glass down his arm, opening it up for more blood to well up and spill. He stopped for a moment and just stared in fascination as the scarlet fluid poured out of his body. He was about to move it again, slice some more, when an unforgettable voice broke the silence around him.

 _"Misaki, no!"_

His eyes widened.

xXx

Fushimi leaped over the bar and dropped to his knees beside the vanguard. He ripped the shard out of the smaller males grasp and proceeded to press a hanker chief to his bleeding arm.

"Monkey...What are you doing here?!" Fushimi snorted at the question, never turning his eyes away from where they'd locked onto the others arm.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Stopping you from doing something even more stupid than anything else you've ever done."

A hand pressed into Fushimi's chest knocked him back and away from the red head. His eyes widened at the look of complete anger on the smaller male's face.

"I don't want you to stop me stupid monkey! This is what I want. I want it to end. And what do you care anyway, huh? You never did before." Yata snarled at the bluenette. He reached for another piece of glass, determined to finish what he'd started when a foreign hand wrapped around his wrist and kept him from doing anything.

"This is what you want? You stupid fool. How is you doing this helping anything? How is you murdering yourself helping you or anyone else? Did you even think about your team when you came up with this bright idea, or was it just you being selfish?!"

The duo just stared at each other, eyes flashing with anger and their bodies trembling with it. Fushimi tightened his grip on the others good wrist, pulling him closer as he leaned into his personal space.

"You didn't think, that's what. Instead of getting help like you knew you should've, you decided to take the cowardly way out. This, this right here? This is not honorable. This is giving up, this is not fighting. This is becoming like everything you've ever said you weren't."

Yata panted, trying to get enough air into his lungs. He could feel Saruhiko's breath on his face, and his anger in his grip. He could see the fear and worry flashing in his eyes. He closed his own eyes, slumping into Fushimi with a small, gasping sob.

"I'm tired. I'm so damn tired. All I see, all I _feel,_ is them. It's everywhere. It's there, every minute of every day. And you're wrong, I can't talk to the others because they just don't freaking get it. They don't freaking get that I can't go anywhere and not hear the sneers and laughs. I can't not feel them when someone touches me. And I can't tell them cause it would taint them. They're all I have that's good, and I can't change that. But I can't live anymore. So please, please, let me finish this."

Yata's eyes widened when hesitant arms wrapped around his shoulders and lower back. He stiffened, not sure what to do. This was Fushimi Saruhiko, world class jerk, stupid monkey and enemy wrapping his arms around him, comforting him. The bluenette lowered his head down until it was semi propped up on his own.

"You don't get it idiot. These people want to be there for you. They want to help you when your down, and feeling scared. They want to know, so that they can help you move past it. They want _you,_ side-effects and all. And I won't let you finish this, I can't let you finish it."

Yata's eyes widened even more. He could feel Fushimi trembling with his admission, the shudders wracking. He could hear the unspoken words in his sentences. Never once had he thought it would be this way, but it was.

He brought his arms up hesitantly, gently, around his former, now future friends shoulders.

Maybe he did have something to live for. Maybe Homra and Saru did want to help him. Or maybe they didn't. Either way, the possibility of it being true was too good to ignore.

 **~Fin~**

* * *

I'm sorry the ending was so crappy, but I wasn't sure how else to put it. I'd been working on this story for so long, it almost felt right.

Thank you all for reading!

Reviews are love!


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